Want
by les cousins dangereux
Summary: Belle brings out the beast in Ruby.
1. Want

_Notes: _Spoilers for 2x07, Child of the Moon, though this puts a bit of a non-canon spin on the events.

I posted this on Tumblr a while back, so some of you have probably already read this! There is a second part to this, which I'll probably post tomorrow or the next day. :)

There is fanart (by the lovely critter-of-habit) from this fic, and it is pretty amazing in every way.

* * *

_If you could only see the beast you've made of me_

_I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free_

_Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart_

_Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart_

(Howl by Florence and the Machine)

* * *

She tries to control it. She truly does.

Belle is an innocent. A marvel. The last wholly good thing in this world—the only one Red hasn't yet ruined with her own particular taint.

So Ruby avoids her—avoids the woman who had, without anything other than faith as validation, believed in an innate goodness in the werewolf that Ruby herself had always had such a difficult time seeing. Ruby avoids her because she cannot bear the thought of destroying the naïve and pure trust of a naïve and pure woman.

But what was it that was said about the best laid schemes of mice and men?

"You know, I think the least you could have done after leaving me locked up in the library was come to release me yourself."

She senses Belle before the woman even opens her mouth to speak—before she even enters the closing diner. Ruby knows the brunette's footfall, her scent, her pattern of breathing; she knows when the woman is near because the wolf in her howls and begs to be let loose.

Still, she spins around in shock at Belle's words, because the woman's voice travels through her ears and burns at her brain; the Pied Piper's song in its level of intoxication, but in a way entirely inappropriate for the children the musician so bewitched.

"Belle! I…uh…"

The woman laughs, her falsely stern countenance immediately disappearing, replaced by crinkling eyes and a bright smile. "I'm only joking, Ruby. Honestly! I'm sure you were quite busy last night. And you had plenty on your mind."

Belle's right, but not at all in the way she thinks; there had been many things on Ruby's mind last night, but nearly every one of them had involved the woman standing before her now. Nearly every one of them had featured Belle chained up in that library, completely and utterly defenseless, and all the things the wolf in Ruby had hungered for in an entirely different way than the inhabitants of the town had so feared.

So Ruby had run.

She could keep the wolf from slaughtering innocents, this was true, but she had found that, in very particular cases, controlling its bloodlust was not nearly as difficult as controlling the bare lust the beast's senses invoked. And if she had gone back to that library, where Belle waited with her kind and trusting face, Ruby would have been swallowed whole by soft rosy scent of her hair, the smell of leather and parchment on her fingertips, the sweet sheen of light sweat at her temples. She would never have been able to resist. For once, she had been safer in the body of the wolf.

"Yeah," Ruby swallows, some of those very same thoughts flashing through her mind once again. "Plenty. But still, I—I'm sorry, Belle."

Belle takes another step forward, closer to Ruby, and the werewolf nearly growls.

"I was just worried, is all," she admits, her head tilted sideways as she observes Ruby carefully. "I wanted to know that you were alright." Another tiny step brings her fully into Ruby's personal space. "You _are_ alright, aren't you?"

_No. No. Nononono_.

She's not alright—not at all—not even a little.

She'd been immediately aware of her attraction to Belle, even after a half-hour of conversation in the diner; the woman reminded her of Peter, in a way—sweet and kind and in possession of a thirst for greater things. But the attraction grew as she spent more time with her, and as the moon grew as well, so too did her ability to ignore the lust that ensnared her senses.

It's how she had known her control of the wolf might not have been as resolute in this world as it had eventually become in the last. And it's why she had asked Granny to lock her in the freezer.

"Ruby?"

A shuddering breath escapes her lips as Belle steps impossibly closer. Nails dig into the flesh of her palms (she can taste the scent of the blood that collects in the crescent shaped tears in the skin).

"You're flushed! Are you…"

Belle's hand comes up to press against the heated skin of her forehead, and she reacts instinctively, knowing that if that soft skin comes in contact with her own she will never, ever recover. But it's too late, because her response is to grab the wrist of the hand that reaches for her—keeping it from its intended target, but bringing herself nearly flush against Belle instead.

"Don't," Ruby says. Her voice is low and gravelly. Her eyes flash gold.

"Ruby!" Belle's eyes dart around; the diner is empty, but the seemingly panicked action itself is enough to return Ruby to her senses, if only for a moment. She practically shoves Belle away from her, retreating back several steps until her back slams against the counter (the pain brings another small dose of clarity, but not nearly enough).

"You—you need to leave," Ruby gasps, her eyes shutting tight (if only her other senses were as easy to block).

"W—what's going on? Are you—you're not about to… shift?" The librarian isn't leaving—Ruby can hear her stepping closer again—closer to the woman who she thinks is transforming into a blood-thirsty beast.

Ruby wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the hysteria bubbling up gets stuck in her throat, and a whimper is the only noise that escapes.

"No. _No_. Please. Belle. Stop. You don't understand. You have to _stop_."

"You won't hurt me, Ruby."

"_You don't understand_!" Ruby's eyes fly open to find Belle is just as close as she had feared—close enough for her to reach out and grab the woman—to place her hands on every inch of her—to scrap her nails against the pure white skin—to bite at the exposed neck and feel the pounding pulse under her lips.

"Then _make_ me!"

Ruby lunges forward then.

Her lips collide with Belle's in a way that's almost biting, but the groan that erupts from her lips is anything but pained. Teeth scrape, fabric crumples in her fists, and Belle lets out a noise from the back of her throat that cannot be understood; the sounds cut to Ruby's core. But not nearly to the same degree as when Belle suddenly responds—her hands coming up to Ruby's face, fingernails cutting into her jaw. There's none of the woman's typical sweetness present now (aside from, maybe, the taste of her cherry ChapStick, or that of her breath—infused with the sugar of some sort of candy she had last eaten); her actions match Ruby's—rough and desperate and fast. Her teeth latch on to Ruby's bottom lip and bite down. _Hard_.

Ruby growls, spinning them around so that Belle's back is the one pressed into the counter, though it doesn't remain there long; her hands slide down to cup at the woman's backside, easily lifting her onto the grey Formica surface. Something slides off the counter and crashes to the ground (the tray of dishes she had been collecting?), but Ruby has never cared about anything less. Belle's teeth still clamp down on her lip, but as the werewolf presses herself in-between the woman's legs, she releases it with a groan, her head tilting backwards. It gives Ruby access to the slender neck she had been obsessively fantasying about for the past week, and her lips latch on to the brunette's pulse point, the rapid beating of the woman's heart calling to her in a way that makes her legs feel unsteady.

But it's the whimper that really causes her to come undone.

"_Ruby_…"

It's soft and trusting and exposed, and not even the way Belle's fingers come to interweave in her hair, tugging sharply at the strands, can keep the flash of awareness from tearing through the haze of her lust—lighting up the small part of her that is screaming at her to stop.

She rips herself away with enough force to cause her to stumble backwards into one of the stand-alone tables.

"Oh, _god_. I—" She's breathless and lightheaded and scared. The words barely come out at all, and when they do, they're disjointed and confused. "_Belle_—oh, god—I'm—sorry. I'm—I'm so sorry. I didn't—I'm s—sorry."

Belle's breathing heavy and Ruby can already see the mark she's left on her neck—can see the way her skirt bunches and the way her lips shine. There's never been a sight more seductive, and it takes every ounce of self-control she's ever cultivated to not move forward and once again and press herself up against the woman's heat.

"R-Ruby—wha—?"

She pushes herself off of the table, knocking over a chair in the process, and takes several shaking steps backwards.

"I—I can't—Belle, I'm sorry—this isn't—" _This isn't what you need. This isn't what you want. This isn't something that will ever, ever end well for you. _"I'm sorry."

She's out of the diner before another one of Belle's enticing words can reach her ears, where the blood already pounds in a rapid and heavy staccato. It doesn't take any thought at all for her to transform, fluidly shifting into the wolf's body with something akin to relief.

And Ruby does what the wolf does best.

She runs.

And she howls.


	2. Courage

Notes: Sorry it took me a little while to upload this; flew home for Christmas and that took it out of me!

Bumped this up to 'M', just to be safe.

There's some fanart inspired by this chapter. Don't you just love this fandom?

* * *

_Tired of waiting on someone else,_

_I can fix it by myself_

[And Run by He Is We]

* * *

Ruby should have known it would be in vain, attempting to hide from Belle again.

She had been cautious—overly so—in her fastidious avoidance of the woman, putting her senses on full alert; diving behind counters when she smelled that enticing rosy scent, working less hours at the diner, feigning sickness on not one, but two occasions, _hell_, even spending a few nights in the woods in human form. But this is a low point, she thinks, as she hides in the tiny, underground section of Seppo's Auto on a Friday night, sitting atop a stack of tires assembled like a poor man's throne.

Billy (poor, poor _Gus_) had shown her the place years ago—it allowed him to work on the underbellies of cars without having to raise them. But they had mainly used the place to fool around, once upon a time. Who could have guessed how _that_ particular chapter of Ruby's fairytale would have turned out? Red, maybe, because that side of Ruby would permanently be convinced that the people she felt affection for would always pay the price of her curse. And Ruby isn't so sure she can find it in her to fight the notion, what with how things have played out recently.

Thus the hiding.

But it's all for naught; this she knows as soon as she hears the soft footsteps on the cement above her. Ruby can't help but think that perhaps Belle has a bit of the wolf in her, herself, the way she's able to find her in this stupid hole of a room.

"Was it because of wolfstime?" Belle demands without preamble, feet kicking aside empty beer cans and other bits of rubbish as she makes her way down into the room. "Was it some kind of reaction to what I ate, or something?"

"Belle…" Ruby stumbles off her royal chair of rubber, because the way Belle's eyes flash—the way her hair flicks about, releasing copious amounts of fragrance as the woman marches closer—the way Ruby's eyes are drawn to the red of Belle's lips—these things tell the werewolf she is likely going to have to make another hasty retreat. That is, if she's able to manage one at all in the presence of the woman who, even when Ruby has no moon to blame, makes her passions rise to heights she finds overwhelming.

"I tried research it; the library has a few things on lycanthropy. But they all focused on what appeared to be this world's version of the curse. And Granny wasn't very clear either."

"G-Granny? You talked to—About—"

"I didn't give her any specifics, but what was I _supposed_ to do, Ruby?" Belle's eyes, already impossibly prominent, seem to grow larger or perhaps more blue. Ruby just knows that she might not ever be able to pull her gaze away. "What was I supposed to do when I had no idea whether…"

"Whether what?"

Belle sighs and looks away, but only for a moment, and when her gaze returns it is hardened and determined, and she asks her question again—phrased differently, but the same question all the same. "Did you only kiss me like that because you couldn't help it?"

Ruby wants to say yes. Because that's the honest response—that night, with Belle so close and so trusting, she would never have been able to walk away without tasting the woman's lips. But then, she's pretty sure if Belle invades her personal space now, in the same way she had that night, she won't be able to help it again, and it's the time of month when the moon has the least amount of pull on her. But that's not what Belle is asking. Not really.

As though sensing her hesitation, Belle adds to her question, closing off all means of escape. "Was it timing? Would you have kissed anyone like that, had they been there, then?"

Ruby wants to—desperately wants to—but she can't lie to this woman. Not when she's already broken her trust twice already.

"No. God, Belle, of _course_ not. But it's… that kiss—that's who I _am_. That…that beast. And you don't want that. You _can't_ want that."

The change that comes over Belle is astounding and (because Ruby is perhaps just a little bit twisted) absolutely stunning. Her eyes narrow, cutting off the light that normally shines in them, her lips pull back in an almost snarl, and her jaw clenches, the lines of her face becoming bolder and striking. Ruby hates the expression of anger that transforms Belle's face, but she can't help but feel her mouth go just a little bit dry, especially as Belle once again places herself so close to Ruby that the werewolf can feel the heat of the woman's skin.

"My whole life I've been told what was good or wasn't good for me. My _whole life_. My father bought me books that told me all about the world, but he hardly ever let me leave the castle without Gaston. They believed me weak—incapable of making my own decisions! I was never allowed the option of choosing anything more important than whether we should have venison or duck for dinner. I was denied growth—denied the experience of learning from my own mistakes.

"And do you know when the first time was that I made a decision for myself? It was when I left with Rumpelstiltskin—when I agreed to become his _prisoner_ to save my land. That was my _choice_. The first time something was _wholly_ my choice. And going back to him, after he let me go? That was my choice as well. Rumpelstiltskin was the first person who gave me a choice—twice. And even if that did change over time… Well, by then I knew my own power; I could choose to leave him."

Belle's expression abruptly shifts, the anger dissipating with the same rapidity with which it had come—taking with it the tension in her shoulders and face, softening her features into something more familiar.

"And then I met you, Ruby, and you didn't force me into anything. You asked me what_ I _wanted. You asked about me and you_ listened_. You gave me the option of staying with Granny—you even let me decide how much syrup to put on my pancakes, even though you like it on everything." Belle smiles, but only sadly, and only briefly (before the anger takes hold once again).

"But then you—you locked me in the library. And you left after—after you kissed me like that. And you didn't let me say anything. You didn't let me decide what _I _wanted. You just… ran." Belle's hand reaches up and grips the placket of Ruby's flannel shirt, nails scraping against the skin exposed by the opening in the fabric.

"If it only happened because…because you couldn't help it—if you didn't want it and you're sparing my feelings now, then fine. That's _fine_. But if you're trying to protect me—if this is some misguided attempt to choose what you see as a less painful road for me, then… then _stop_. I can decide my own fate. But you have to…you need to tell me the truth. _Just tell me_."

Belle's eyes flash and Ruby finds that it takes her a moment to remember exactly how to speak.

"Belle… I didn't want to—I never meant to—" She takes a breath—a deep one—and continues, her voice low, but not unrushed. "I want you. I do. And it's not the wolf. Or the curse. Or anything other than_ me_. I just want you. But you—"

Belle shakes her head, her grip of Ruby's shirt tightening, and then it's déjà vu, but backwards and upside down, because this time, it's Belle's lips that crush against hers and Belle's body that surges forward, pushing Ruby's back into the hard wall behind them, their feet knocking over a bottle of some sort that spills cold liquid onto the floor and over Ruby's boots.

Maybe it should seem out of character, Belle's kiss—hard and fast and demanding—but it seems as though Belle is just tired of people telling her what she can and can't or should and shouldn't do. And maybe, the sweet, kind librarian wants to start doing whatever the hell she wants. And if this is what Belle wants (if _she_ is what Belle wants), who is Ruby to complain?

And with that thought in mind it's hard (impossible, really) and pointless to resist the impulse to draw Belle even closer. So she doesn't— gripping at the woman's hips, bunching the fabric there, and aligning them properly, the hem of Belle's dress rising up and over Ruby's knee. She wishes she were wearing shorts (or better yet, no pants at all) so she could feel the smooth skin, always hidden by Belle's clothing, against her own. But then, maybe she _can_ (and why shouldn't she?) because it's not difficult to slip a hand under that same hem—to slide it up over the woman's flesh, feeling the shiver that wracks Belle's form and the slight goose bumps that raise under her palm as she lifts the leg around her hip, nails pressing into Belle's upper thigh.

Flipping them around is even easier. Belle is unsteady and pliant and Ruby needs more friction, more of Belle, in general; she needs to mold herself into the body of the woman she so desperately craves. The connection between their lips breaks, but only hardly—only just—because as they spin, she can still feel them occasionally brush—can still taste the air Belle breathes in quick, desperate pants. It is this breath that Ruby swallows as they complete their turn—Belle's back hitting the concrete wall (a noise of agreement escaping from deep in her throat)—and she once again renews the connection in a kiss that surely leaves some kind of mark.

Belle pulls Ruby's flannel shirt up, freeing it from the jeans from where it had been tucked, and her hands slip under the soft red and gold fabric; the skin is hot underneath, and Belle's touch only makes the temperature rise (further than it should, maybe, and Ruby wonders if this isn't some sort of sickness—some kind of fever—the way she burns for Belle). Clearly, though, she's not the only one affected; her knee shifts and pushes against the thin fabric covering Belle's center and the woman whimpers, head falling backwards and thudding against the wall painfully.

The _concrete_ wall, Ruby remembers vaguely. The concrete wall that has _stains and cracks and chipped paint_. The concrete wall that is part of the tiny underground opening of an—Jesus!—an _automobile repair shop_.

"Belle," Ruby gasps, wrenching herself way. "This is—this isn't right. We haven't we haven't even—_oh god_—we haven't even gone on a _date_! We're in a dirty _garage_. This is_—" _

_This is a place where girls with red streaks in their hair and dark makeup on their face go for a quick fuck_, Ruby thinks, _not where precious librarians are deflowered by people who genuinely care for them._

Belle almost growls, and Ruby realizes she's doing it again. It's easy because Belle is sweet and kind and good, and people who have an unnatural darkness in them—people like Ruby and Rumpelstiltskin—they're drawn to that. They want to protect that. Because they weren't able to protect it in themselves.

But pure innocence is a fallacy and maintaining the illusion a curse. And as she looks at Belle now, undone and free, she thinks the woman has never looked more beautiful. This doesn't feel like corruption. Not at all. It's desire—yes—and lust, but it's more than these base emotions. It's a tightness in her chest when she looks at Belle—a warmth that spreads when she thinks of being near her, hearing her laugh, or making her happy. It's something that scares Ruby a great deal, because she's been hurt by the feeling so many times. But so has Belle. And withdrawing now—running away again—would only accomplish bringing about more of this pain.

So she stops. And she asks. Because that's what Belle's always desired; the freedom to decide—to choose.

"What—what do you want, Belle?

"You." The woman moans, her words winded, but sure. "Here. Now."

Ruby's not sure it's possible for the woman to be more clear. Or for any words to have quite the same effect. And dirty garage or no, she's not going to be able to walk away from this now.

Doubt gone, Ruby spins Belle around; the woman's hands are ripped from under Ruby's flannel shirt and flattened against the wall as Ruby presses Belle's front into the concrete surface. One of Ruby's hands lands on top of Belle's left, fingers curling into the spaces in between the librarian's fingers, and the woman groans as Ruby pushes into her back, leg back in-between both of Belle's, shoving them apart with her knee. And as Ruby's right hand once again pushes up the fabric of the woman's dress and grips at her hip, a gasp tears from Belle's lips—surprised, but euphoric—and she is unable to keep the hand in place for long, sliding it across to slip just under the waistband of Belle's simple undergarment.

"This is what you want?" Ruby whispers, teeth scrapping against the shell of Belle's ear, and every bit of the woman's body presses into Ruby's as she squirms.

"Y—yes. Oh… oh! Yes!"

As Ruby's hand slips lower and presses into the woman's heat, Belle's gasps and whimpers grow louder, shifting into moans that echo off the walls of the garage and into the night. Ruby feels as though she's being pulled apart; the overload of sensations—Belle's body rocking into hers, the taste of salt on the side of the librarian's neck, the scent of the brown hair that spills over onto her shoulder—threaten to undo her completely, in the most pleasurable way possible.

And when Belle's groans turn into a chant—a mantra—of Ruby's name as Ruby's fingers curl further into the woman, she lets the feeling wash over her—thoughts fading away into a haze of inconsequential nothingness.

Belle's body jerks and falls forward further into the wall, her frame only held up by Ruby's weight pressing into her from behind. Ruby can feel the sweat on the back of Belle's neck as she lets her head fall onto the woman's shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss on the skin there.

"Oh," Belle breathes. "Oh."

Ruby pulls her hands back to rest on the librarian's hips, and turns her around again—slowly—to reveal what may be Ruby's new favorite expression—a dazed smile with just a hint of a flush. And as Belle leans against the concrete, this look in place, Ruby can't help but reply with a smile of her own, a smile that Belle's fingers reach up to trace, almost in wonder.

Love is a tricky thing, Ruby thinks, because living in this world has taught her that it's far more complicated than placing a bold 'x' in the 'true love' box. Things are blurry and confused in this land, and it's impossible to know whether the same rules—rules that were so concrete in the old world—still apply. [Can true love be found in this land? Can it be found twice? And does that label even _matter_?] Perhaps though—perhaps this is not a thing to bemoan. Because in the complexity of this tangled and convoluted and confusing ball of emotions, there's a sort of beauty that the cut and dry love of a land of magic and fairy tales could never quite acquire.

Ruby wants to embrace that beauty—that complexity—she wants to love Belle in a way that doesn't concern itself with labels or rules or past loves or losses. She wants to love Belle with all the innocence of Red, all the wildness of the wolf, and all the passion of Ruby.

And the way Belle's eyes trace her face—the way her breath still comes out in shallow pants—says she doesn't mind being loved that way. Not at all. Would it be so terrible if maybe this world didn't require any further validation than that?

Ruby grins widely at the thought and Belle's blush deepens.

"Have I worn you out too much to walk?"

Belle shakes her head, her blue eyes alight.

"Then what do you say to us finding a bed, beautiful?"

A quick kiss is her answer, and complex love or no, Ruby finds that pretty straightforward.


End file.
